


And Whither Then?

by The_Winter_Straw



Series: Straw's Super-Amazing Fantastic Quarantine Request Booklet Extravaganza [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, No mention of Arwen, POV Second Person, Post-Quest of the Ring, Reader is Tenth Walker, Reader's fantasy race is not defined, Reader-Insert, Shipper on Deck Gandalf, Tenth Walker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: Here, at the end of all things, you just might find a new beginning.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Reader
Series: Straw's Super-Amazing Fantastic Quarantine Request Booklet Extravaganza [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748251
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	And Whither Then?

**Author's Note:**

> This request comes from bleuwales via e-mail.
> 
> Before some ultra-knowledgeable Tolkien fan comes by to ask: I know about Arwen. I have nothing against Arwen (or Éowyn, for that matter). Every other thing I've ever written for Aragorn has been written with the idea that Arwen is Aragorn's true love and provides at least some of his motivation. I just couldn't think of a good way to address her in this particular one shot. 
> 
> **Prompt:** N/A

Fair indeed was the land of Ithilien. Long had you heard tales of the splendor of these places of the West, and, as you trod through them yourself there at the end of what had felt an endless journey, you thought none of those tales had been exaggerated. Never had you felt more at peace anywhere on Arda. Merely breathing deeply in of the fresh air seemed to give your tired body some much-needed vigor—or perhaps that sensation had more to do when your recently acquired freedom from fear and anxiety. The reason hardly mattered. All you needed to know was that the scent on the breeze, the shimmering leaves, and the babble of water seemed now more than ever to cocoon you in serenity. 

It was the growing roar of that water that confirmed for you at last that you were headed in the correct direction. Encouraged by this, you moved all the more swiftly along the hidden path described for you earlier that day. Hours of aiding the Captains of the West to round up the last battling men of Rhûn and Harad left you with little energy remaining, but the thought of what (or rather who) waited ahead kept you going far beyond what you normally could. 

Soon the river you followed led you to the most magnificent waterfall you had ever laid eyes upon in all your wanderings: the Window-Curtain, right where you had been told that it would be. The rushing water thundered in your ears as you followed along the path as instructed. Several times you thought you might be pressed down by the weight of that water to your doom, but soon enough you found yourself in Henneth Annûn. Though the outposts of the Men of the West were largely unknown to you, you could not have been mistaken as to what the structure was, for a familiar bearded man in white robes came to greet you before you had much chance to take stock of your surroundings. 

"Ah, [Name]. Back so soon?" he asked. 

"It is believed all the forces of Mordor have either surrendered or fled home, save those now in our custody," you answered. "Legolas and Gimli should be here shortly. I did not want to tarry." 

Gandalf hummed, a knowing sound that nearly made you blush. So the Wizard remained in high spirits. That was a good sign. His obvious cheer indicated this moment of victory would not be snatched away as quickly as all the others. Still, you had to ask before you could celebrate any further: 

"How are they? Sam and Frodo? Are they—" 

"Aragorn has done tending to them. He believes they will both recover, inasmuch as any that have been through the ordeal they have can recover." 

You let out a breath of relief. Losing those two at Parth Galen remained one of your greatest failures in this affair. Their well-being confirmed, you went on timidly, "And Aragorn?" 

"Has himself retired," Gandalf said, and there was a flutter of amusement in his tone. "He is in the Captain's quarters. Go on. I am certain Gimli and Legolas will not miss you overmuch once they arrive." 

Now you _did_ blush, or felt you did. You rather hoped that your time with the Fellowship had taught you to suppress such signals to some degree. Clearly no degree could fool Gandalf, so you did not attempt to dissuade him of his implication. Instead, you bobbed your head once in silent acknowledgement of his suggestion, then turned to walk quickly up the nearest corridor. 

Unfortunately, your unfamiliarity with fortifications like this one meant your chances of finding Aragorn on your own were slim. Too bad you could no longer reverse course and ask for assistance. You did not doubt Gandalf was having a good chuckle about your stiff neck and pride now that neither threatened the safety of Men and Halflings alike—not that you were about to risk a look over your shoulder to check. He could laugh all he liked; you yourself were well aware that your behavior was not becoming of your station. It would be best if no one else saw you until you'd calmed down a little, so what choice did you have but to keep walking to the end of the hall? 

"Do you search for something, my lady?" a new voice called from somewhere to your right. 

Instinctively, you looked over. There on the cot inside the nearest room sat the exact man you sought. Tall, grizzled, and lean as ever, just the mere sight of Aragorn brought you to an abrupt halt mid-stride. 

He stood as your eyes met, and then he approached the open entrance to his quarters. “Perhaps I could be of some help to you.” 

"I've no need for further assistance," you answered, "for in your calling out to me, I have found the object of my hunt." 

Aragorn smiled in that subtle way he had: Through his lips hardly moved, a warmth crept into his dark eyes that made you want to stand there staring into them for the rest of your natural life. He bid you enter with a motion of hand as he moved deeper into the room. You hesitated, knowing well Gandalf might be watching, and perhaps others who had not come to greet you. 

"Will you not join me?" Aragorn asked. 

"If that is what you ask of me," you said with quick step over the threshold, "my lord." 

This sudden addition caused his eyebrows to lift. Once he saw you enter, however, he did not say anything more on the matter. There were more important matters to attend to in that moment—namely a steaming bowl of water and a wet cloth waiting on a low table for him to pick them up. Only as he wiped the towel across his forehead did you realize he remained covered head to foot in the dust and blood of Mordor. So great had been his concern for Sam and Frodo that Aragorn had not paused in his efforts to heal them even to get himself clean. 

How like him. How like him to bow to the needs of others; how like him to forget his own wants in the face of an ailing friend. You did not know what you had expected to find here in Aragorn's place upon your return. A king like Théoden? A leader like Denethor? Neither truly were bad men, but neither of them could compare to man that stood before you. Not even the events of a day like that day could transform someone like him. 

Aragorn then broke into your thoughts with a simple observation: 

"I take it that your arrival heralds an announcement the task of clearing out Mordor is complete?" 

You snapped to attention. "Oh. Yes, sir. As much as can be done so quickly. I know there was some talk among the captains of returning for more thorough work once our current prisoners are secured in Gondor." 

"Good. The immediate area is clear for certain, then?" 

"For certain, my lord." 

"And I suppose that Legolas and Gimli joined you on your trek here?" 

"For most of the way, my lord. They should get here soon." 

A frown pressed wrinkles into the weathered skin of Aragorn's brow. Slowly he put aside his blackened cloth to look at you. Such an expression crossed his face that you were forced to cast your gaze at the wall rather than endure continuing to look at him. 

"Why do you call me that?" he asked quietly. 

"Call you what, pray tell?" 

"You have never called me by any title before today." 

"Before today I had very little cause to do so.” 

You knew very well that Aragorn could make himself silent whenever he wished. He must not have wished it then. Every step of his approach told you plainly that you ought to turn your head to greet him, but you did not, not even when his voice issued very close to you to ask: 

"What further cause do you have now?" 

The softness of his tone made your eyes burn. Your throat felt tight as well, as though an Uruk-hai had its hands around your neck. A rough swallow rid you of much of this sensation, but being able to speak was not enough. Had you not spent all this journey ensuring none of your companions could read so easily what was in your heart? You could not betray yourself by letting them see your emotions now! Only after some effort on your part could you finally force yourself to look up at him. 

"You are a king," you said. 

"I have always been a king." 

"Yes, this I realize. It is only now that it—well, it feels more real now, however little sense that might make. There has always been some chance our quest would fail and you would never take the throne. Against all odds, our company did not just live, it won." 

"And you believe this to be a bad thing?" 

"No, but it is _some_ thing. Your coronation is to be held as soon as the Halflings wake, is it not?" 

He bowed his head a little. "It is." 

So that was that. You had not the heart to hope that Sam and Frodo would remain asleep for an age or more. It would be better, in fact, if they awoke at once. Such joy would serve as a much-needed distraction. Celebrating with them would not allow you to linger on the wicked thoughts that now plagued you—all of them centered on the handsome face only inches away from your own. 

Aragorn himself caused those thoughts to sharpen next. His hand brushed against your forearm, slid all the way down to your palm, and intertwined its fingers with your own. 

"Tell me what you are thinking of," he murmured. "Tell me what you plan to do after I am crowned." 

Admittedly you had given that as little thought as could be allowed. To say goodbye to Aragorn—even after so many goodbyes throughout your long life—felt unthinkable now. He had given you an order, though, and his were those you were accustomed to following. 

"I hope to accompany Legolas and Gimli for a time. They would not desire to be with me all the way, but perhaps they will allow me to join them until I reach my own home." 

"And after that? What then?" 

"After that, I shall..." Shaking your head, you tried to pull away from him and toward the door. "I do not know. Forgive me my intrusion. I only wished to give you my report. You'll want rest after aiding Frodo in his, and I ought not—" 

"[Name]." 

Not only did Aragorn refuse to release your straining arm. Not only did he close the tiny gap you'd managed to put between your bodies. Not only did he stand in such a way that you had no hope of breaking for the exit. None of that together was enough. No. He also had to say your name in a way you'd heard only a handful of times, so few you thought you'd imagined an echo from your dreams. Your heart thundered in your chest as he gently shifted a lock of filthy hair from your sticky forehead. 

"[Name], I do not wish you to leave my side. If that is truly your desire, I will do nothing to stop you. What I will ask is that you reconsider if you only plan to leave because I am to be made King of the Reunited Kingdom in the near future. My position will change nothing." 

Could he feel the way you trembled in his grasp? Did he understand how terribly his words affected you? "How can you say such a thing?" you burst out, utterly annihilating any chance you had of deceiving him of your true feelings. 

"I speak only the truth." 

"You speak pretty lies. As we both agreed, you are a _king_. The hour Frodo wakes, it will not just be our company that knows but all the West—perhaps even beyond! _Everything_ will change after that." 

"Only if we allow it to." 

His tone was so firm that you stopped your quavering at last. To your everlasting shame, hot tears spilled over the edges of your eyelids. The tracks left a burning sensation as the water coursed down your cheeks. Not once had you cried during the hardships your Fellowship faced. Only when Boromir died and that Fellowship broke had you allowed yourself to grieve. All the time seemed to have left you incapable of stemming the flow of tears in the now. 

"I am a fool," you said bitterly, and gave your arm another futile tug. "I will miss you. That is all I hoped to say before we leave again." 

"Then stay with me," Aragorn said. 

"I do not belong in Gondor." 

Surely he understood the deeper meaning of those words: You did not belong with _him_. No great pedigree graced your lineage. No greater acts than any of his other friends could be attached to your name. Whatever moments you and Aragorn might have shared throughout that journey—the night in Lothlórien after Gandalf died; that hour in the depths of Helm’s Deep before the battle began; any of the other wordless tensions there had been—none of them mattered any longer. Each of you had different paths to trod from then on. 

Further pressure around your hand pulled you roughly back to the present day. 

"I regret to hear you say that," Aragorn told you. "Things _will_ change. On that point I cannot and will not argue with you. I believe all our lives will change now that the Ring is gone and I am to take my crown at last—but I believe our lives will change for the better. We have now been through the fire. What else remains except _for_ better?" 

You opened your mouth to remind him of all the sadness that remained in Arda. The elves were still to leave in droves; what good could come from that? But before you could speak a single word, Aragorn bent his head and pressed his lips against yours. They were warm and cracked and gentle. Only the latter truly surprised you. Fear that this was only a dream prevented you from responding much to the kiss, for as quickly as his mouth had come upon you, it also withdrew. 

"Yes. Better," he continued as he moved back—but not by much. You could still feel his breath against your face as he went on to say, "Before we could be certain of our victory, I could not tell you of my love for you. I could not ask you to bear such a burden. As you said, we might have neither succeeded nor lived. Yet we did both. [Name]." 

Speechless, all you could do was stare up at him while your shock did the work of drying your cheeks. One of his rough thumbs brushed away a stubborn tear still clinging there. 

"If you will miss me, you must believe I will you ten thousand times as much as that. Do not leave. Do not let things change in the way you fear. Stay with me, and let our lives together be the richer for it." 

His request was beyond any that some dark part of you might have wished for in the longest nights of war. Never, not if you had somehow grown to be as old as Gandalf, would you have ever believed any of this situation possible. How could Aragorn love _you_? You could think of nothing that could drive him to lie about his feelings for you, which meant that he could only be telling the truth exactly as he had earlier claimed. 

You could find neither the words nor the voice to answer him. Given no other options, you leaned forward until your head nestled in the crook of his neck. His familiar scent—sweat and all—steadied you so that you felt strong enough to face him once more. 

"I already told Legolas and Gimli that would join them," you said hoarsely. 

"Then I will see to it that they forgive your departure." A new smile graced his face, a brighter one that shone through even through the several layers of grime coating his skin. "Will they refuse me? I _am_ to be a king." 

Laughing at last, you lifted your head to kiss him yourself. He allowed you to linger this time, so linger you did. The open door (as well as your dignity) prevented anything more than that. Soon the sounds of your two missing friends entering the outpost themselves interrupted you. You could not help but smile as you followed Aragorn out of the room to greet them. Little time remained before he would be crowned King of the Reunited Kingdom, but that was of consequence to you no longer. Ever after you would remain at his side, until one or both of you passed from this life. 

And whither then? You could not say.


End file.
